


T.O.P. S.E.C.R.E.T.

by Willaphyx



Series: Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Secret Relationship, confession of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willaphyx/pseuds/Willaphyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a prompt on Tumblr : "clarke accidentally leaves her diary at octavia and bellamy "accidentally" reads it"</p>
            </blockquote>





	T.O.P. S.E.C.R.E.T.

“Bell?!” Octavia yelled from her bedroom.

Bellamy sighed, and looked up from the papers he was grading on the couch.  “There’s a thing called  _walking out of your room to talk to people, O!”_  he called back.

She stuck her head out of her room and stuck her tongue out at him.

“You’re a child,” he informed her drily.  “What do you want?”

“Rude,” Octavia chastised, coming the rest of the way out of her room and flopping down onto the couch next to him.  “What are you doing anyway?”

She twitched one of the essays closer and read, “ _Social political structure of the Roman Empire prior to the death of Caesar._ Okay, forget I asked, that sounds horrifically boring.  Count me out.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and carefully pried the essay out of her hands.  “They’re all shit so I wish I could say the same.”

“Bellamy Blake,” his sister said, hands on her hips. “As an esteemed TA of the university aren’t you supposed to treat your students with the utmost respect?”

Bellamy snorted.  “You should see their grammar.”

Octavia smiled.

“What is it?” he asked, much more kindly this time.

“Is Clarke still here?”

That got his attention.  He put down his grading pen and turned fully to face Octavia.  “She left twenty minutes ago.  Why?”

Octavia held up a book.  “Because she forgot her  _very secret_  diary.”

Clarke Griffin had come into Bellamy’s life, quite literally, in a drunken whirlwind.

His first introduction to his sister’s best friend who he had been told so much about was a Saturday night that he spent just like every other Saturday night, grading papers or writing essays and drinking too much coffee while watching Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune in the background.

He’d known that O was going out drinking with Clarke, a blonde he’d only seen in photos, but he wasn’t expecting them to be back before midnight. Or quite so drunk considering how early it was in the evening.

But that’s exactly what they were when they stumbled into his apartment at 8:30, laughing and leaning on each other and teetering so dangerously on their heels that he was actually a bit worried that one of them was going to trip and break an ankle (and he was honest to God impressed that they’d managed to safely climb the four flights of stairs to his apartment).

Fifteen minutes later he’d been holding Clarke’s hair as she threw up in his toilet.  And so a beautiful friendship was born.

Okay, so sure at first they’d been jumping down each other’s throats more often than not and it wasn’t uncommon for Octavia to come home to find Clarke and Bellamy squished against opposite sides of the couch, wearing matching angry expressions with their arms crossed over their chests but they’d straightened the kinks out eventually.

And  _now_  they had a beautiful friendship.  With benefits.

Benefits that Octavia didn’t know about.

So naturally Bellamy was sweating.

Clarke’s diary was practically famous.  She’d had the same worn Moleskin notebook since he’d known her and she was writing in it all the time so that was seriously an accomplishment.

He’d asked her about it once, and she’d said that she liked writing down the good days so when she was having a bad one she had something to keep her going.  Bellamy liked that.  If he’d been more of a writer himself he might have given it a whirl.

The existence of Clarke’s diary wasn’t the problem.  Nor was it that Octavia had it.  No, the problem was that Bellamy knew Clarke had written about him.  In prolific, probably rather explicit, detail.  And this definitely was not how he wanted his sister to find out he was kind of fucking her best friend.

Not to mention the fact that he was hopelessly in love with her.  Though then again not even Clarke knew about that.

“Really?” he asked, sliding a bit closer to Octavia, trying to keep his voice from shaking.  “May I?” He held out a hand, praying to all the deities he knew (and there were a lot) that today would be the one day Octavia decided to be forthcoming.

O shot him a weird look.  “Why do you care?”

Bellamy shrugged.  Or at least he tried to.  It probably looked more like a seizure but Octavia didn’t seem too put off by it.  “Call it curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, big brother,” she responded with a wide grin and Bellamy felt a bead of sweat drip down the back of his neck.

 _She doesn’t know_ , he told himself.   _She can’t know_.

He and Clarke had been careful.  More than careful.  He doubted spies were better at keeping a cover.  Okay maybe that was overestimating his abilities but still they’d been so quiet about their affair (for lack of a better word) that not even Jasper had caught wind of it.

Their relationship was all quiet stolen moments and moans muffled into pillows and waking up at the crack of dawn so they could hurry out, clutching yesterdays clothes, before their respective roommates woke up.

It was better than nothing but still Bellamy dreamed.  Dreamed of a day when he would be able to sit next to Clarke on Game Night and sling an arm around her shoulder, let affection creep into his voice when he talked to her, hold her hand, introduce her not as his friend, Clarke Griffin but as his girlfriend.

So yeah, you could say that Bellamy had his head in the clouds.  Because it was very obvious that those were not feelings Clarke reciprocated.  Their relationship was more of a mutually beneficial arrangement between friends than anything.  Her last two relationships had both ended in complete disaster and Bellamy would have been very surprised if she was interested in opening her heart to someone else so soon.

“How philosophical of you,” he replied drily, wincing slightly (more for her than anything) when Octavia smacked him.

“Rude,” she admonished again and he shook his head.

“Give it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s  _my_ best friend.”

That shut Bellamy down.  Because it was true.  Clarke had been _Octavia’s_  friend first.  He was just the free loader who had taken advantage of his sister’s pre-existing relationship with a girl who he found unfairly attractive.

It was the same thought that plagued him every time he lay beside Clarke at night, watching the moonlight play off the smooth ivory of her back and the glint of the gold in her hair, as her breaths faded into sleep.

She really was like a dream.  Because she was only his at night.

Octavia flipped through the first few pages and Bellamy forced himself to take a breath.  Those had to be entries from before they’d even met.  It was fine.  Everything was fine.  Surely Octavia would get bored of reading about Clarke’s life (after all she probably knew almost everything in the book anyway) and she’d put it down and then he’d be able to covertly text Clarke and tell her to come pick it up.  Because she wanted O reading it as much as he did.

Thankfully he was right.  After flipping through five pages, O threw the book onto the coffee table and stood.  “Chinese for dinner?”

Bellamy couldn’t take his eyes off the journal, sitting abandoned on the table.  It was like it was mocking him, laughing at him.  “Yeah, fine,” he said distractedly.

Octavia gave him a funny look but didn’t say anything else.  She padded into the kitchen and he heard her open the drawer that was home to their small army of takeout menus.

He stared at the notebook.  It stared back.

Okay not really but that’s what it felt like.

Before he could talk himself out of it he reached out to snatch it up, bringing it into his lap.  He stared at the cover, and the T.O.P. S.E.C.R.E.T. written in the corner in Clarke’s impeccable handwriting, before opening to one of the more recent entires.  His name jumped out at him immediately.

His cheeks colored.  Clarke really  _was_  detailed.  Jesus.  He was now especially thankful that Octavia hadn’t gotten this far.  He had to find a way to keep it away from her before he could give it back to--

The door banged open to reveal  _Clarke_.

“Oh, fuck,” Bellamy muttered.  He’d been caught red-handed with her most prized possession reading an entry about  _himself_.

This had not been one of his better ideas.  And Bellamy had made  _a lot_  of really really really bad ideas.

Fucking his sister’s best friend probably made the top of that list though.

“Bellamy, hey!”

He wished she hadn’t said his name with that degree of affection.  He wished he’d never met her.

Okay, no, that was a lie.  He was done, screwed, head over heels.  For Clarke Griffin, his sister’s best friend who was totally not into him as anything more than a fuck buddy.  Like he’d said.  Screwed.  Both literally and figuratively.

If this wasn’t such an unfortunate situation he’d be laughing, too.  But go ahead,  _laugh._

“What are you doing here?” he managed around the lump that was quickly developing in his throat.

“Octavia texted me something about Chinese food.”  She smiled.  “And you know how I feel about Chinese food.”

He did.  Clarke eating noodles was partly responsible for their first hookup.

“What are you do--” her eyes slid to his lap, where he was still clutching her open journal with trembling white hands.  “Bellamy, what are you doing with that?” she asked, her voice lower, dangerous.

“You left it,” he offered hopelessly.  “Octavia found it in her room.”

“So you just decided to  _read it?”_  she hissed, taking a step closer.  “What if--” She cut herself off and looked down the hall to the kitchen, from where Octavia’s voice, still on the phone with someone, wafted.

“Yeah, well, she almost did,” he hissed back.

Clarke paled.

“So don’t go jumping down  _my_  throat, princess, when you’re the one who left the damn book here in the first place.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed.  “Watch it, Blake.”

“You want your damn book back?” he demanded.  “Fine, have it.”  He threw it at her.

She caught it reflexively, a hurt expression replacing the anger.  He swallowed.  Bellamy immediately felt like an asshole.

That was the problem with Clarke.  He could never stay angry at her.  It was physically impossible, especially when she was looking at him with those big eyes, looking all innocent and wounded.

“Shit, Clarke, I’m sorry. That came out more harsh than I wanted it to.”

She bit her lip.  “It was my fault,” she said, tucking the notebook into her bag.  “I shouldn’t have left it.”  She paused.  “How much did you read?”

He grinned.  “Enough.”

Red stormed its way onto her cheeks.  “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

“You’ve never been the only participant, princess,” he told her and she blushed harder.

“Jesus, Bellamy,” she muttered.  “Your sister is literally in the next room.”

“I’m aware of that.”

And he was.  And he’d be lying if he denied that he had a small hope that Octavia would come out, overhear the conversation, and demand to know what they were talking about.  Even if he lost Clarke in the process it would take  huge weight off his chest for the veil of top secrecy to finally be lifted.

Octavia stuck her head out of the kitchen, her smile wide.  “Hey, Clarke, I got you lo mein, that okay?”

“With extra chicken?”

Octavia gave her a look that clearly said  _obviously_ and Clarke grinned back.  “Great, thanks, O.”

“Oh, and you forgot your--”

“Bell already gave it to me.”

Octavia’s eyes slid to her brother, wary.  “Oh, good.  Lincoln says hi to both of you, by the way.”

Then her head was retreating back into the kitchen and Bellamy released a heavy sigh.  Considering how much time he spent thinking about how much easier this whole thing with Clarke would be if Octavia knew about it, he was awfully dedicated to making sure she never did.

They ate dinner on the couch, with Clarke sandwiched securely between Octavia and Bellamy, and watched Jeopardy.

It was distracting, to have her thigh right there, pressed up against his, in the most platonic and friendly of ways, sure, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t conjuring up much less platonic occasions.

 _Get your mind out of the gutter, Blake_ , he told himself.

And he tried.  He really really honestly tried.

“So, Clarke,” Octavia asked during one of the commercial breaks (everyone knew that you didn’t speak during Jeopardy without incurring Bellamy’s wrath).

“Hmm?” Clarke hummed around a bite of lo mein.

“When do I get to meet the guy you’ve been sneaking around with?”

Clarke and Bellamy both choked on their next bite.

“What?” Clarke gasped as Bellamy coughed on the piece of sweet and sour pork lodged in his windpipe.

Octavia laughed.  “You didn’t seriously think you were fooling me did you?  You have a pattern.  Every time you like someone, it’s always the same.”

Tears were streaming down Bellamy’s face now and thank God the piece of food still in his throat was distracting him from the oncoming train wreck that was Clarke’s conversation with his sister.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clarke said, trying for calm but Bellamy could hear the current of fear in her voice and knew that Octavia would pick up on it in seconds.

There was a smile in his sister’s voice when she said, “Oh, the putting on extra makeup, the--Bell, are you okay?”

He nodded and made a vague  _go on_  gesture with a hand.  No way was he getting dragged into that.

Octavia gave him a dubious look then turned back to Clarke.  “The makeup, the  _going to the gym again_ , the dressing nicer, come on, Clarke, I’m not an idiot.  Plus there’s the fact that you’re go--oh, my God,” she mumbled.

“The  _fact that I’m what?”_  Clarke demanded.

“The fact that you’re  _here all the time.”_

Clarke stared back at her.  “I’m always here all the time,” she said dumbly.

“No, but it’s different.  You used to just come whenever I asked you to but now,  _now_  you come of your own accord.”

There was a calculatingly shrewd look on her face that Bellamy really was not a fan of.  But he’d finally managed to dislodge the piece of pork so he was feeling pretty good about life.

How fitting would it be, though, if he survived possible suffocation from Chinese food only be be murdered by his furious sister.  That was his life, he guessed, a never ending list of unfortunate coincidences and bad timing.

This particular encounter would be added to the top of that list.

Because now Clarke and Octavia were both looking at him expectantly and he felt like the kid who walked into class five minutes late.

“What?” he demanded.

“Bellamy Blake,” Octavia said in a threatening voice.  “I swear to God.”

“ _What?”_

Octavia rolled her eyes.  “Since when?” That question was directed toward Clarke.

“Since when what?” Clarke asked innocently.

Octavia threw her hands up.  “For God’s sake, you two, I’m  _not an idiot_.”

“O,” Bellamy said slowly.  “Neither of us has any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really,” Octavia said sarcastically.  “Then how do you explain  _this_.”

She reached around Clarke and lifted away her curtain of blonde hair, revealing a dark purple bruise that Clarke had very clearly tried  _hard_  to cover up.

Bellamy swallowed.  “Um.”

“I have hickey-dar like you would not believe,” Octavia said darkly, tapping her forehead.  “And don’t you think for a minute that I didn’t notice how that showed up the night you--” she pointed at Bellamy “--went to the ‘bar’ and you--” Clarke now “--weren’t around to hang out.”

“It’s not my fault your brother likes biting so fucking much,” Clarke muttered as Octavia clamped her hands over her ears.

“Jesus!” she yelled.  “ _Way, way, way too much information!”_

 _“_ You asked,” Bellamy pointed out.

Octavia glared at him.  “And you!  I live with you!”

“That’s a truly stunning observation, O.”

“And you didn’t  _tell_  me?”

“Neither did she,” Bellamy argued, pointing at Clarke.  “And like you said, she’s your best friend.”

“You’re right,” Octavia decided.  “I’m equally mad at both of you.”

Clarke and Bellamy opened their mouths to defend themselves at the same time but Octavia cut them off.

“For not  _telling_  me.”

Clarke and Bellamy shared a confused look.

“Uh,” Clarke said at the same time that Bellamy said, “We weren’t--aren’t like a  _real_  thing.”

Next to him, Clarke tensed and Octavia threw him a  _oh, good God_  look.

“Right.  Like that’s true.”

Clarke was strangely silent all of a sudden.  He was going to say something else but the familiar notes of Final Jeopardy were already wafting out of the speakers and he didn’t want to break his own rules.  So he sunk back into the couch cushions and tried to ignore Clarke’s rigid form next to him.

Needless to say that didn’t go very well.

Later that night as he was folding the laundry he’d done earlier, he heard his door creak open and then closed.  He knew who it was from the smell of vanilla even without looking up.

“I understand if you’re done now,” he said, still without looking up. He didn’t think he could face the rejection in her eyes.

“Bellamy,” Clarke said, sounding cross.  “Look at me.”

He swallowed then did.  She was leaning back against the door, arms hanging loosely at her sides like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.

_Awkward._

The word popped into Bellamy’s find of its own accord but that didn’t make any sense.  What did Clarke have to be awkward about?

“I’m sorry,” he offered.

She shook her head and pushed away from the door.  “It was both of our fault’s apparently.  Since it seems like she’s known all along.”

“No, I meant sorry for the...” he trailed off and gestured to his neck.

She smiled a little and sat on the bed.  He swallowed.  He loved seeing her there.  Like she belonged.

“I wasn’t complaining was I?”

“Clarke,” he managed and he didn’t even care that his voice sounded broken.  He really wished she hadn’t said that.  Because now all he was thinking about was how soft her skin was under his hands, and how much he loved the contrast between his dark tone and her light ivory.  And how, in those moments when she was his and his alone, she looked like a damn goddess.

“Why did you tell Octavia we were never anything?” she asked finally, looking up at him with those eyes that made him feel like he was falling.

“Because we aren’t,” he said honestly.

“Funny, I don’t remember having that conversation.”

He froze.  “What are you saying, Clarke?”

She looked away for a moment before replying.  “Maybe I do want us to be something.”

Bellamy’s throat went dry.  “And you bring this up  _now?”_

She shrugged.  “I didn’t know what you wanted.”

“Clarke, I’m in love with you.”  He clapped a hand to his mouth.  “Oh, shit,” he muttered around his fingers.

She was staring at him, wide-eyed, mouth open just slightly.

Then the next thing he knew, he was on the bed next to her, one of her hands was wrapped around his wrist, and her lips were pressed against his.  She kissed him frantically and he couldn’t get his hands on her fast enough.

When she pulled away, pressing her forehead to his, they were both breathing heavily.

“We’re both idiots,” he panted.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, tucking a strand of hair he’d managed to tear out of her braid behind her ear.

She nodded frantically and he smiled, hands smoothing down her sides to her hips.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m in love with you, too.”

Bellamy’s answering grin was lost against her lips.  But he was totally okay with that.

And yeah, they definitely didn’t wait to tell Octavia  _that_  tidbit of news.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


End file.
